Respite
by IneenDubh
Summary: old World of Darkness, Vampire: The Dark Ages, a tale of the disappearing Lhiannan.
1. Hunted Alone Hungry

Part 1 Hunted Alone Hungry

Hunted. Alone. Hungry.

Hunted.

At first it was just whispers from the spirits. They care as little as I do about the details of the current affairs of the world. But from random snatches of rumors stitched together like an ill fitting quilt here is the picture that I have been able to assemble on why I am being hunted.

It would appear that some members of some dark skinned breed of my kind wanted to ingratiate themselves with the local humans, by designating me as a convenient scapegoat, thus drawing away attention from their controversial natures. The order appears to have come from most high, an important and powerful member of my kind with the cumbersome label of justicar. The order then traveled to the local baron of my kind. He then approached the local human inquisitor. Now there is a word that I have learned to fear. Members of the new religion of the cross that will decree any other religion, including that which I practice, as a heinous heresy, punishable by death. He then appealed to the human justiciar. He himself then decreed that the local human earl should assemble a human detail to hunt me down. The local baron of my kind assembled himself a hunting party to follow suit. And in an unprecedented alliance, the silver haired wolves allied themselves with the local contingent of my kind to give me hunt as well, no doubt to ingratiate themselves with the local humans as well.

So now I am being pursued by all kinds, Norse humans, vampires, and werewolves.

They have already managed to drive me away from home.

The spirits urged me so, reporting on the encroaching of the approaching hunting parties.

And now I am being relentlessly pursued, at night by vampires, at day by humans, and day and night by werewolves, relentless hunters.

Luckily my flight thus far has led me through some very dense woodland, which allows me to flee during the day as well, safe, sheltered from the lethal embrace of the father sun. But my strength is failing me, the pace of my escape slackening.

Thanks to the insistence of the spirits, even though I rue them that, for it pains me to be away from home, I had gained a head start. Oh relentlessly did they badger me as well, trying to impress upon me the urgency of my plight and the urge to depart. But oh was I loathe departing my home.

But now, inexorably, they are gaining on me.

Alone.

My breed is solitary by nature. We don't mingle with others of our breed, let alone with others of our kind, and even less with humans.

Some of us will visit with others of our breed if our homes are close enough to thus allow it.

Some of us will receive as temporary guests members of our kind that are passing by our home.

If some tribe of humans that follows the old religion happens to live near our homes, we might entertain mutually beneficial relations based on that common ground, to the point where we might be asked to officiate at their rites.

It sometimes happens that those of my breed will form bonds with some of the fae that are equally bond to the tree we call home.

It will also happen that we form bonds with the local beasts that have laid claim to a territory that encompasses our home.

But that is a lot of ifs, and they only come together for a surprisingly short number of the members of my breed.

Also some of us every so often will give rise to offspring.

But that usually weakens us and produces offspring weaker than we were, as if by producing offspring we were halving our powers and sharing those halves between sire and childer.

So that practice as well has been discontinued.

Most of us will have their sole company the mighty tree that we call home.

It is said of us that we are spirits of the tree, but then we would be offspring spirits, for the trees that we call home have spirits of their own, with whom we can commune. And the company of those spirits are all the company that the majority those of my breed will have their entire lives. Those spirits will be our family and our friends.

And now I have been driven away from mine.

That is why I was so loather to leave my home, why the spirits had to be so insistent, impressing upon me the direness of my situation and the impending peril.

And now I feel utterly alone, cast asunder from the only family I have ever had, bereft of the only love I have ever known.

Adrift, lost in some nameless patch of woodland where my feet have never walked before.

Hungry.

There are several ways for me to draw sustenance.

The most basic is to feed from blood procured from the animals that have their territories comprising my tree, always taking care not to kill them.

But that is the basest form of feeding, which only feeds my body and even that barely.

There are two ways to pay homage to the spirit that inhabits my tree, and both involve blood.

I can practice blood sacrifices of local animals, though I have also learned to do that without killing them. I know that my spirit only requires a few drops of blood shed on the roots of the tree, not the life of the animals that I am sacrificing.

I will also sacrifice from time to time, on holly days and remarkable occasions, a little of my blood.

And thus sacrificing blood for my tree, feeding blood to the spirit that inhabits my tree, performing a holly ritual in homage to the tree and its spirit, I feel infused with a flush of energy that feeds my spirit and quenches the hunger of my body.

And there is this connection with the spirit of my tree: that together we are greater than the sum of us, that our auras feed on each other in a manner that enhances both of us, the spirit of me and the spirit of my tree.

Apart, we both get progressively weaker, and wither until we die.

I am already wilting, feeling my strength failing me, draining away from me.

Having been driven away from home by my pursuers I have been driven away from all the company that I have ever known and the only sustenance, corporal and spiritual, that I have available for me.

I am questioning the wisdom of the spirits that drove me to flee, since my flight seems to guarantee death as sure as the one I would have met had I remained waiting for my pursuers. But now fleeing I am. And even though I have a vague idea what from, not even the glimmer of a notion where to.

And so I am now.

Hunted. Alone. Hungry


	2. They Are Gaining On Me!

Part 2 They Are Gaining On Me!

They are gaining on me!

Sensing my strengths failing me, my heart had become increasingly infused with despondency, weighing on me, a sense of despair and hopelessness fastened upon my back, slowing me ever more down, thoughts of surrender, of giving up my flight and just laying down on the floor, waiting for my pursuers to catch up with me, had begun running through my mind, speaking louder and louder, becoming ever more insistent.

But now they are gaining on me!

Already I can hear them!

The blood curdling howling of the werewolves, acting as hunting hounds to the hunting party that is hunting me. The piercing victory hollers of those of my kind that are pursuing me, already giving me up for caught. The thunder of horse hooves and the braying of hunting horns of the human party.

Still faint in the distance, but already close enough for me to define them.

And now the spirits show up again and they too gang up on me!

At this juncture, it would appear to me that any direction I take in this now desperate flight would be indifferent, and the best one to follow the exact opposite than the one they are coming from.

But the spirits are ganging up on me, pressing me and urging me to follow a direction that goes on a sharp angle from that one, one that will narrow the distance that my pursuers have to cover until they are upon me.

One particularly piercing and blood freezing howl manages to dispel the clamor of the voices that had settled in my head urging me to quit, quieting them down, running up and down my spine and spreading in waves all throughout my being, dispelling as well the growing fatigue that had been weighing me down.

That coupled with the loud insistence of the spirits, who so far have never let me down, prompts me to tear madly in the direction the spirits prompted me too, in a mad dash for deliverance motivated by the purest survival instinct. Barely dodging, sometimes running head on through the underbrush that festoons in this portion of the wood.

But still they are gaining on me.

I can sense the howling of the wolves, the holler of those of my kind, the thunder of hooves and braying of horns of the humans getting closer, becoming ever more distinct.

They are gaining on me.


	3. Combat Is Joined

Part 3 Combat Is Joined

Suddenly combat is joined!

Just when my pursuers are upon me, just when I am starting to hear the cracking of the branches they step on and the rustling of the bushes they push aside, just when I am beginning to see them as ominous shadows in the background when I cast frantic gazes behind my shoulder in my mad escape, just like that the pursuit is abandoned and combat is joined.

Coming out of nowhere, certainly not summoned by me, unsuspected allies fall upon my pursuers to deflect them from their goal, me.

I hear it in the background, the sounds of combat. The coupled growling of wolves locked with each other in mortal duels. The sharper growling of those of my kind squaring off against each other. The bell like ring of iron upon iron, the sound of human weapons clashing against each other, overlaying the thunder of horses' hooves, now grown more irregular in the frantic maneuvering of combat tactics, each one jostling for advantage.

I collapse to the ground, squatting with my back pressed to a mighty oak, facing a clearing of sorts, the area covered by the canopy of the oak I am leaning against, too thick to allow anything to grow underneath it.

Every so often the combat spills to my immediate vicinity.

I see a russet colored wolf with his jaws locked around the neck of a silver haired one, rolling and tumbling just in front of me, caught up in their lethal duel, totally oblivious to me. Then, crashing by a bit to my right, one of my kind in a lupine war form with his jaws locked around the neck of a dun colored one, obviously intent on parting the other's head from the rest of his body, while the other is desperately trying to fend him off. Then to my left a couple of human warriors on horse back, horse an extension of the warrior, as they feint and dodge, one of the humans with leather jerkin, crested helmet, round bossed wooden shield and long sword, the other with a chain mail hauberk, a square metal shield, and war axe, the one with the axe slowly loosing ground under the thrusting blows of the one with the long sword.

Suddenly combat is joined.

And just like that I am delivered from my pursuit.


	4. An Invitation

Part 4 An Invitation

Then as suddenly as combat had been joined it is broken.

The racket around me changes from one of combat joined in earnest to one of combat fading away. The frantic panicky ululations of wolves on the rout. The din of extremely fast moving bodies crashing through the underbrush, no doubt those of her kind fleeing. The thunder of hooves growing dimmer, fading away in the distance, humans retreating.

Then the gurgling sound that humans make when they are being totally drained, no doubt members of my kind disposing of human wounded foe. Any single combat involving wolves or those of my kind would certainly have resulted in the death of one of the opponents. Only humans leave wounded on the ground as they move to their next opponent.

Then for a while silence.

Then the sound of gathering forces, members of each kind sorting themselves into their respective contingents.

I am blank, in a daze, wearied beyond endurance, uncomprehending of what has just transpired.

Then slow moving hooves converge upon my position. Eventually my new found human allies come within the clearing where I sit, within my range of sight. The king is leading him. The king himself! I can recognize him by the obviously royal torc, of exquisite craftsmanship, which he wears around his neck, and the colors he wears. To his right and a little behind is his champion, the burliest of the company. And to his left and a little behind the champion is the youngest of the company, probably his son, bleeding from a slash across his side.

Then, to the right of the human contingent, a little more haphazardly, assuming final formation a little behind the humans, those of my kind, the breed closest to mine, the shape shifters, those who fought in wolf war form.

Then to the left of the humans and further behind than those of my kind, and constantly milling about, the wolves.

They hold their formation for a long while, facing me, in an attitude that can only signify that they are paying their respects to me.

Then the king dismounts and moves in my direction, closer to me. Those who I suppose lead the other factions move also towards me, maintaining their respective attitudes.

Then an elderly man in flowing white robes and flowing long silver hair and beard comes to stand by the king, his right hand on the king's right shoulder, his left hand holding a wooden cudgel. They even brought one of their druids!

The king speaks first:

"There will be a banquet tonight at my hall, celebrating this victory. You will be our guest of honor."

The druid speaks next:

"There is an oak in the vicinity that might suit your needs. You will be shown to it in the morning."

The leader of those of my kind then:

"We will settle adjoining territories intersecting around that oak, to offer you protection."

The wolf growls in apparent assent.

I am stunned.

Just like that, an invitation and I have a new home, and a new multi natured family.

If only the oak in question will accept me.


	5. The Banquet

Part 5 The Banquet

The banquet was opulent, both in the foodstuffs and beverages made available as in the ritualistic pomp and circumstance observed.

I was let into the banquet all by the doorman druid himself.

The whole of the king's court was in attendance: the king himself, his wife, his son who bore his tended wound proudly, his daughter, his champion, his mounted nobility, at least one representative of each type of druid.

A boar had been hunted specially for the occasion and its carcass was impaled on a spit hanging on a pair of firedogs and roasting on the main banquet fire, trout and salmon were grilling in a subsidiary fire, beets and cabbages and onions and turnips were stewing with hunks of pheasant and grouse in a cauldron in yet another fire, there was bread enough to feed the whole tribe and cheese to go along with it, fruits and nuts barely in season occurred in heaps, and a veritable flood of beer flowed freely.

The pig keeper druid himself served the royal portions of the boar to the royal family, the champion followed by cutting off himself the hero's portion, and then all the others dug in.

The scansion druid poured beer to the royal family. All the others helped themselves of it.

While the others ate and drank the druids did their part in entertaining the court, with occasional breaks to help themselves to the food and drink, more often than not being served by some appreciative and respectful noble. Though it has to be remarked that there was ritualistic pomp and circumstance to what others might dismiss as mere entertainment.

The harpist druid spread mirth and joy by playing sacred songs of laughter. The storyteller druid entranced the court with stories where members of my breed of my kind played relevant roles. I could see in this a blatant though not ungracious token action in deference to me sharing in this court banquet. Then the historian druid followed suit by telling histories, some very ancient, going back untold generations, almost lost to the mists of time and the dim recollections of the times of the ancestors, of past interactions of members of my breed of my kind that had fostered oaks in the vicinity of the tribe's hill-fort with forefathers of the tribe. Then the jurist druid still, in the same vein, expounded at length and with copious and magnificent knowledge and wisdom on the ritualistic laws that regulated the interaction between members of my breed of my kind and their landlord humans.

But nothing of this could prepare me for what came next: I was blood bounded to the tribe.

The champion of the tribe suddenly assumed a swaggering position at a focal point in the banquet hall; the scansion druid moved very deferentially towards the queen to collect the cup of welcome and then to collect from the king a ceremonial dagger; then as deferentially moved towards the champion, and solemnly placed the cup of welcome under the arm of the champion and presented the ceremonial dagger to him; who then nonchalantly took the ceremonial dagger from the scansion and with it sliced his forearm and, all the while looking at me with eyes that were hard but caring, protective, clearly indicating that he was ready to die in the safeguarding of me, dribbled a fair amount of blood into the cup of welcome; the scansion then moved even more deferentially towards me, and then presented to me with even more solemnity the cup of welcome with the champion's blood which it contained; I looked at the king a bit dumbfounded, but with a nonchalant gesture but meaningful eyes he motioned me to drink from it; which I did, with due reverence; while the healer druid tended to the slash on the champion's arm; this gesture I took to signify that I was under their armed protection, and that they would lay down their lives in my safekeeping.

Then the king motioned me to feed directly from the prince, who was honored at the prospect. The scansion druid relieved me from the cup with the champion's blood when he was sure I had had a fair amount of it. Then the king took his son by his shoulders and nudged him gently in my direction. The prince's eyes shone with unbridled pride at the honor being conferred upon him, and he fairly strutted until a close but respectful distance from me, and determinedly presented me his collar. The king made the same inviting gesture coupled with the same meaningful stare has he had made inviting me to drink from the champion's blood. With even more reverence I lowered my head in the direction of the prince's collar, pierced his skin as cleanly as I could muster, and drank just enough to satisfy the reverence of this moment but not enough to deplete and thus weaken the prince, and not nearly enough to sate my hunger. The healer druid tended the twin holes left by my fangs, but I had made sure such required tending would be as minimal as possible. The prince seemed proudly ready to dismiss such tending, choosing to bear such marks with the same pride as he bore his war wounds, but the king prevailed upon him on this.

Then the king made plain that I also was supposed to feed of my blood to his daughter. He grasped her more fondly by her shoulders than he had done with the prince, and he nudged her more gently, but still he nudged her towards me. She stopped a little further from me than the prince, and though there were some traces of fear in the stiffness of her expression and her gestures and her posture and her walking, for she knew what being fed my blood entailed, an even fiercer pride blazed from her eyes and her cheeks turned ruddy with it, coupled with a complicated expression where love, adoration and worship warred against each other. The scansion druid had collected the cup of welcome and the ceremonial dagger and had cleaned them until they shone as new once again, and had presented them both to me. But the king's daughter cast imploring eyes upon the king, whom after some pondering and a hushed conversation with the queen eventually relented; he then cast a most meaningful stare my way and mimicked what was expected of me. I took from the scansion druid only the ceremonial dagger, made a slash in my own forearm, grasped it firmly so the blood flowed more freely, and presented it to the king's daughter. She grasped my forearm eagerly, more eagerly still pressed her mouth against the gash in it, and drank greedily. Then she stared me hard in the eyes. I could see in her eyes, her face, the changes taking place within her: her cheeks flushed even more ruddy to the point of crimson, and her eyes shone even more brightly, her pupils grew enormously, as to obscure all iris, and her expression lost all remnants of fear and even pride and the complex mix of love with adoration and worship rode triumphant. She just had thus taken the first of three steps to blood bondage, the deepest emotional bond that a human can experience, deeper than any love one can bear to another.

And thus had become signified that I was blood bounded to the royal family and therefore their foster kin, worthy of the same honor, respect, deference, love, affection, commitment, protection, safeguarding, safekeeping, and willingness to fight and die for my sake, as the rest of the royal family.

The only druid that was in attendance but did not participate in any way in the festivities or the rituals was the oracle druid, a woman.


	6. The Oak

Part 6 The Oak

Next morning the druids led me to the oak.

The oak that had been home to my latest predecessor.

They figured, since it had recently hosted one of my breed of my kind, it just might be willing to take on another.

The oak was even more impressive than the one under which I had hid during the battle.

The bole ranged upwards a fair amount before it branched out into a massive canopy, festooned with catkins, acorns, galls and mistletoe. As the previous one it had a naturally occurring bowl free of undergrowth.

The druids hang back a little while I introduced myself to it.

I searched with my spirit the oak's spirit, probed the quality of our resonance, and respectfully asked it if it would take me as surrogate.

It made the expected request for tripartite blood sacrifice but that otherwise it was pleased with the way we resonated, with the politeness with which I had made my request and what he had ascertained of my spirit during our introduction. He added that as long as I held my part of the bargain and made regular sacrifices to it he would uphold its share and try to feed me to the best of its ability.

The druid first presented me with a cup brimming with blood culled from the best ox in the king's own herd of cattle, drained specifically for such purpose, another sign of how keenly the king appreciated my settling in his domain.

Saying the adequate prayers with utmost reverence I solemnly poured the entire contents of the cup to its last drop unto the oak's roots.

Then the druid presented me with a live goose and a sacrificial sickle. The blood in the cup had been collected without killing the animal, enough to completely fill the cup but not enough to drain it to the point where it would die. The goose I was supposed to offer in mortal animal sacrifice, pierce his arteries and veins and then upend it and let the blood drain until the animal died of blood loss and was completely bloodless, which I proceeded to do, all the while proffering the adequate prayers with total reverence.

Then it was time to offer the spirit of the tree some of my blood. Still using the sacrificial sickle the druid had conferred upon me I sliced the length of the vein that ran along my forearm and squeezed hard, indifferent to the pain, focused on the prayers that I repeated as a mantra, determined to bequest the spirit with a more than fair amount of blood.

That done I once again extended my spirit towards the oak's.

It said that it was extremely pleased with how deferentially I had preformed the ritual, especially with how much of my blood I had been willing to part with, and that with honor he extended his patronage towards me, so that we were now surrogate to each other.

Then I probed our resonation and was pleased with how the oak's spirit had aligned itself with mine.

And that was it.

I presented to the druid the cup and the ceremonial sickle and they respectfully bade their leaves and left.


	7. Respite

Part 7 Respite

As soon as the druids vanished from sight and hearing range I sat down with my back and pondered.

As satisfactory as the alignment in the resonance between the oak's spirit and mine had been, it hadn't been perfect.

It was someone else's oak, and I belonged to another oak.

We had become surrogates, but we were not each other's from the origin.

I knew that as much as it tried it would never completely satisfy me when it fed me, nor would I.

So that with time we were both doomed to fade away.

No, this surrogacy was but a respite for both of us.

And larger forces were at play in the whole wide world.

My recent graze with early death was proof enough of that.

The Norse outsiders had left their imprint on the land, on the people's culture, along with a fair amount of inhabitants. The new religion of the cross was spreading like wildfire, turning people away from the old ways.

My human hosts were an exception, of the native breed, clinging to the old customs: they were an island in a rapidly climbing sea.

No, the tide of the world had turned against those of my breed of my kind. Soon I would fade away, and eventually all of my kind would likewise disappear, hunted to extinction or fading away like me for lack of spiritual sustenance.

Yes I had found a new home, but it was but a brief respite before the end.


End file.
